Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“You know, Myles,” he said, propping one elbow on the bar, “it’s my experience that men who are always bragging about the size of their firearms are compensating for other”—he raked Gideon with a derisive glance—“deficiencies.” He turned to Meredith. “Good morning, Mrs. Maddox.”
“Yes,” she replied stupidly.
Yes. It was a very good morning, now.
Rhys looked magnificent. Fresh-scrubbed, clean-shaven, and turned out like a gentleman from head to toe—topcoat, cravat, waistcoat, trousers, boots. How had he managed it, camping out on the moor? She had visions—delicious visions—of him bathing in the stream, shaving in the glassy reflection of the pool. But why? For what earthly purpose?
Though her brain puzzled over the mystery, the rest of her had no question. She knew in her blood he’d made the effort for her. And that made him the most powerfully arousing sight she’d ever beheld. He smelled of soap and wild sage and clean male skin. She stared hard at the snow-white tangle of linen at his throat. Her fingers itched to get at that knot, wrest it open, wend inside his shirt, and lay claim to all within. He was like one big elaborately wrapped gift that she longed to tear open.
She laughed silently at the irony. All that care he’d put into his dress, with the ultimate result that she wanted him immediately, completely naked.
His fingers, so thick inside her …
“Are you ready for church?” he asked.
The word jarred her. “Ch-church? Did you say church?” And no. She was absolutely ready for something, but church wasn’t it.
“It is the first Sunday of the month, is it not?”
She nodded in disbelief. This was the reason he was all dandied up? For church?
As if in confirmation, the church bell began to toll.
“If you’re ready,” he said, “I thought you might walk over with me.”
Meredith drew in her breath with an audible hiss.
A lazy, lopsided smirk eased its way across Rhys’s face.
Oh, he was a sly devil. Dressing to seduce, and then tempting her with the one chaste activity that would make them an official pair in the eyes of the village. Walking to and from church together was something courting couples did. Hereabouts, it was tantamount to announcing an engagement.
“You don’t need me to walk with you,” she protested. “You can see the church from the front door. It’s paces away, just across the road. You can’t get lost.”
Gideon spoke up. “You heard the lady. She’s not walking anywhere with you. Why don’t you walk straight out of town?”
Perfect. Just what she needed, a contest between Rhys and Gideon to see who could piss the farthest. “I don’t believe I’ll go this morning. I …” She put a hand to her temple. “I have a touch of headache.”
Rhys didn’t answer, just slowly circled the counter to her side of the bar. Meredith braced her hands on the polished wood as he came to stand behind her, a little closer than was friendly. A long, silent moment passed, and the tempo of her pulse doubled. What did he mean to do?
She wasn’t even certain she’d felt it, at first. The sensation was more quiet than a whisper, more subtle than insinuation. Just the ghost of a caress tracing her lowermost left rib. The feeling intensified as it scraped over the vulnerable notch between waist and hip. Then snaked over the small of her back, insidious and tantalizing.
With sudden clarity, she realized what was happening. This storm of wicked sensation was all the result of one simple, deceptively innocent act. Rhys had her apron string between his fingers, and he was giving it a tug.
Slowly, surely … with an unwavering purpose she felt from the arches of her feet to the tingling roots of her hair … he was pulling the string loose.
There was a moment of tension. The length of rolled muslin drew taut. Quivered, resisted. At last, the knot surrendered.
And she was completely undone.
Confident hands rose to her shoulders. Hooking a finger under each strap, he drew the untied apron down her arms. She began to tremble by the time he reached her elbows. To disguise it, she took the task from him, shrugging the apron over her wrists.
Her tongue was thick as she swallowed around it. Awareness prickled over every inch of her flesh.
“Meredith.” His deep, insistent voice fell on her nape. “Walk with me.”
“Mrs. Maddox?” From the kitchen, Cora’s bright voice clashed through her desire. “Was that the church bell?”
Meredith clutched the discarded apron to her chest, as if she needed to cover herself for modesty’s sake. He’d removed nothing but this scrap of flour-crusted muslin, yet she felt bared to the skin.
Cora walked out from the kitchen, and drew up short when she came face-to-face with Rhys. The girl swallowed hard. “Good morning, my lord,” she told her slippers, apparently unable to look him in the face. “I … I didn’t mean to interrupt.”